William Blake

(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827 / London)

William Blake
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an English poet, painter, and printmaker. Largely unrecognised during his lifetime, Blake is now considered a seminal figure in the history of both the poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age. His prophetic poetry has been said to form "what is in proportion to its merits the least read body of poetry in the English language". His visual artistry has led one contemporary art critic to proclaim him "far and away the greatest artist Britain has ever produced". Although he lived in London his entire life except for three years spent in Felpham he produced a diverse and symbolically rich corpus, which embraced the imagination as "the body of God", or "Human ... more »

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Quotations

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  • ''Truly, My Satan, thou art but a Dunce,
    And dost not know the Garment from the Man.
    Every Harlot was a Virgin once,
    Nor can'st thou ever change Kate into Nan.''
    William Blake (1757-1827), British poet, painter, mystic. For the Sexes: The Gates of Paradise (Epilogue, l. 1-4). . . The Complete Poems [William...
  • I see every thing I paint in this world, but everybody does not see alike. To the eyes of a miser a guinea is more beautiful than the sun, and a bag worn with the use of money has more beautiful propo...
    William Blake (1757-1827), British poet, painter, engraver. letter, Aug. 23, 1799. The Letters of William Blake (1956).
  • ''For where'er the sun does shine,
    And where'er the rain does fall,
    Babe can never hunger there,
    Nor poverty the mind appall.''
    William Blake (1757-1827), British poet, painter, mystic. Holy Thursday (l. 13-16). . . The Complete Poems [William Blake]. Alicia Ostriker, ed. (...
  • Want of money and the distress of a thief can never be alleged as the cause of his thieving, for many honest people endure greater hardships with fortitude. We must therefore seek the cause elsewhere ...
    William Blake (1757-1827), British poet, painter, engraver. letter, Aug. 23, 1799. The Letters of William Blake (1956).
  • ''Is this a holy thing to see
    In a rich and fruitful land,
    Babes reduced to misery,
    Fed with cold and usurous hand?''
    William Blake (1757-1827), British poet, painter, mystic. Holy Thursday (l. 1-4). . . The Complete Poems [William Blake]. Alicia Ostriker, ed. (19...
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Comments about William Blake

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  • wow me (12/4/2017 11:50:00 AM)

    OMG that is a lot and it is cool

  • Holly Canercan (12/3/2017 4:32:00 AM)

    I mean much not mich!

  • Holly Canercan (12/3/2017 4:31:00 AM)

    I love Blake so mich I could listen to his poems all day! I have just ordered the songs of innocence and experience and i cant wait to read them! ! !

  • Davey (12/1/2017 11:32:00 PM)

    Words have weights that vary for every reader. Blake's carry enough, I wrote them in my flesh. Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.

  • Stessy Enni (11/24/2017 3:47:00 AM)

    Wao Am thrilled with the poems.....hope to be like you one day

  • Ash Adetayo Ash Adetayo (8/11/2017 2:35:00 AM)

    Great poet, am looking up to be great as you are, i just wrote a poem RELATIONSHIP CALLED FRIENDSHIP you wiill find it interesting pls make a comment about it for me

  • Somnath Chakraborty Somnath Chakraborty (6/6/2017 1:42:00 PM)

    his sharpness is shoen in his name itself....william blake

  • No More Leroy (4/27/2017 9:09:00 AM)

    https: //soundcloud.com/no_more_leroy/frankenstein-are-people-re-mastered

  • Nassy Fesharaki Nassy Fesharaki (4/10/2017 9:46:00 PM)

    For years I thought I knew him; now I know I do not know him...but?

  • kim kate (3/28/2016 4:51:00 AM)

    He is one of my favourite poets

Read all 41 comments »
Best Poem of William Blake

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Read the full of A Poison Tree
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